


Mudd's Garden

by wildair7



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-23 00:11:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13775559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildair7/pseuds/wildair7
Summary: The crew of the Enterprise lands on a formerly uncharted planet where they discover the land of Paradise is not as it seems, and Spock has a vision of his future.





	Mudd's Garden

**Mudd’s Gardem**

By

 

Janelle Holmes

 

 

     “Captain, what is inherently illogical can never become logical.”

     “Is that your personal opinion or the computer’s, Spock?” asked the ship’s Chief Surgeon, Leonard McCoy.

     “Neither, Doctor; it is a well-known premise of logistics.”

     “In other words,” Kirk interjected, “you’re saying what exists here, cannot, by logical definition, truly exist.”

     “Precisely.”

     “Nevertheless,” said McCoy, “it does exist, or do you also dispute the tricorder readings?”

     “I merely suggest what our eyes behold and what the instruments record are not reality.”

     “Like everything on Organia or Melkot?” asked Kirk.

     “Not exactly, but it seems you are beginning to comprehend my analysis of the situation.”

     McCoy walked away from the other two officers, muttering to himself, while Spock remarked, “The doctor appears disturbed. Did I say anything to upset him?”

     “Believe me, Spock, you said nothing out of character. Bones has just been a bit touchy, lately. Seems to think we should consult him more often, since he’s a lieutenant commander.”

     “But the rank accompanies his position as Medical Officer. It is not based upon military aptitude.”

     “I know, but that hasn’t occurred to him, or at least it doesn’t seem to have. Try to ask his opinion more often. Even if it doesn’t help, it might make him feel more…noticed.”

     The Vulcan stared bewildered. “I see no logic in asking for opinions, which, of necessity, I must discard. However, I shall endeavor to placate the doctor whenever the opportunity arises.”

     “That’s all I ask.” Kirk crossed the room and touched the Grecian style fountain bubbling its iridescent waters over a marble faun. “That such beauty as this exists only in our minds seems illogical, also, if you’ll pardon the expression, Mr. Spock.” He turned to his First Officer. “How can we be certain these things don’t exist?”

     Spock clasped his hands behind his back. “Captain, I did not say, these things do not exist somewhere, merely that they do not exist here and now.”

     Kirk squinched his eyes in confusion, pointing an incriminating finger at the Vulcan. “You did say, though, that, by logical definition, they can’t truly exist.”

     “No, Captain, you said that, not I.”

     “But you said my assumption was right, didn’t you?” 

     “Again, you misinterpreted my response.”

     “Well, what did you say, Spock?”

     The Vulcan signed briefly in exasperation. “I have tried to convey my opinion that these things are not reality.” He changed the position of his arms to fold them calmly across his chest. “On Melkot our minds were affected to see what the Melkotians wished us to see. On Organia, it was our sight, although here it is neither. Instead, these exist at another place and time—even logically another dimension, and have, by some phenomenon, been transferred to this location.”

     “Then why can we experience all sensation of touch and taste?”

     “Merely part of the illusion.”

     “Well,” said Kirk with a deep breath, “let’s round up the rest of the landing party and assemble to coordinate all the information we’ve gathered.” Just as Kirk raised his opened communicator to his mouth, he stared past Spock to a cluster of trees, forgetting all but the person who emerged from the forest, a terribly familiar person—tall, burly, wearing outlandish clothes and sporting a handlebar moustache.

     “Mudd!” Kirk exclaimed.

     Spock turned, equally astonished but suppressed his reaction immediately. “It could be part of the illusion, Captain,” he whispered.

     “Tricorder?”

     “Inconclusive, remember?”

     “Jimmy boy,” Mudd said gleefully. “And Mr. Spock. How do you like my little paradise?”

     “Yours?” Kirk remarked. “I might have known you’d have a finger in this.”

     “Ah, now, Jimmy, can’t you overlook my small past transgressions and enjoy this vast beauty?” said the other, spreading his hands wide.

      Kirk regarded him critically. “How did you get away from the androids and Stella?”

      Mudd returned his stare and looked contritely at his shoes. “Well, it has taken several years, and if it hadn’t been for the Klingon ship and my having a solution for their pest problems—”

     “Which probably backfired the minute they took you wherever you wanted,” muttered Kirk.

     “Well, now, can I help it if my little cure hadn’t had the opportunity to be thoroughly tested?”

     “You wouldn’t happen to know a certain trader by the name of Cyrano Jones, would you, Harry?”

     Spock focused all his attention on the somewhat uneasy Mudd.

     “Well, yes, you could say I know him, I suppose. Actually, I’ve never met him, but…”

     “But what, Harry?”

     “Well, you see, my mother’s sister…”

     “Yes, Harry?”

     “I guess you could say Cyrano is my cousin.”

     “Which explains a great deal,” Spock interposed.

     “It certainly would,” added Kirk.

     Spock spoke next. “About this place of yours, Mr. Mudd…”

     “You like it? I’ve tried to incorporate the most beautiful aspects of all civilizations of the Galaxy.”

     “Quite impressive. However, I am more concerned with the method you employed in transferring the illusions to this location.”

     “Illusions, Mr. Spock? Why, everything here is one-hundred percent reality.”

     “We’re wise to your game, Harry,” said Kirk. “Spock has already seen through this ‘paradise’ of yours.”

     “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Captain Kirk. I assure you, this is no game—merely a place where one may indulge all his senses with the utmost peace and beauty. You will find no ugliness here, nothing bitter nor sour in taste, nothing rough in texture nor chilling cold. Here, all is beauty, sweet upon the tongue, soft and pleasing to the touch. Each the water flowing from the fountain here is heated to the most pleasurable of temperatures. Everything in Mudd’s Garden is designed to heighten the senses and tantalize the mind and palate.”

     “Indeed,” commented Spock, casually examining the variety of colorful plants at the base of the fountain. The shiny maroon leaves were oddly warm to his inquiring fingers, leaving a not unpleasant aftereffect which quickly permeated his body. The further words of Mudd and Kirk faded away from his hearing and drifted beyond on the light breeze, as did their corporeal forms.

 

     He found himself transported to another section of Mudd’s Garden, or so he thought. Here, a limpid pool of violet shimmered in the shade of tall blue trees with scarlet bark. There was movement at one end of the pool, and Spock made his way through the protective copse to investigate the cause of the water’s disturbance.

     What he saw, splashing about in the shallow water, defied all logic, defied every ounce of reality within his Vulcan mind. But his eyes, his mind told him this was real. For what he beheld was a small child—a Vulcan child—happily playing by himself, laughing gaily, and then, pointing his bare bottom in the air, dove, only to resurface some yards away.

     Torn between his Human, “scientific” curiosity and his Vulcan sense of wrongness at the small boy’s behavior, Spock couldn’t decide what would be the logical course of action. Finally, he managed to compromise both conflicts, as always, and yet satisfy both, as well. Coming out of the concealing trees, he walked along the shoreline closest to where the child swam.

     “You,” he half-shouted.

     The boy stopped as he surfaced, wiping the water from his face then shading golden eyes as he looked in the direction of the strange voice. “Is someone there?” he asked.

     Spock stepped out of the shadows. “Yes. I called to you. Who are you, and where are your parents that they allow you to behave in such a manner?”      Treading water, the boy regarded the stranger with childishly speculative eyes. “I am Selton.” And, with those words, he again dived to the depths of the pool, breaking water at the other end, where he scrambled up the bank and ran naked into the cover of the dark blue trees.

 

     “Spock, Spock, are you all right?” a voice entreated, a hand shaking his shoulder. His sight returned.

     In front of him, stood the Captain and a smiling Harry Mudd beside the Grecian fountain. Spock’s brow wrinkled slightly as his vision cleared to normal acuity. He looked at his fingers; the sensation had vanished. “I…I must have… I mean to say…it seems I have experienced a hallucinatory vision, catalyzed by a chemically organic substance engendered by the local flora.”

     Mudd looked to Kirk in confusion. “What did he say?” he asked, cocking his head and twitching his moustache.

     “The plant he touched caused a hallucination.”

     “You sure? It didn’t sound like that.”

    

     Kirk was still worrying over Spock, attempting to persuade the Vulcan to sit on one of the nearby marble benches, also sensuously warmed, so he didn’t notice McCoy’s return.

     “What’s going on here?” McCoy roared. “Mudd, did you have anything to do with this?”

     “I assure you, I have no ill will against the Vulcan, Doctor McCoy. In fact, I can’t understand what the problem is.”

     Kirk whirled about. “One of your ‘paradise’ plants drugged him, that’s what happened.”

     “Spock, drugged?” All at once, Bones became a complete physician, bending over Spock’s resting body like a mother hen, his medi-scanner whining quietly as it relayed information on the Vulcan’s physical condition. McCoy frowned, adjusted the devise and took another reading. Again, he frowned and this time beat the instrument against his palm, regarded it once more and rattled it against his ear. Again, he passed the scanner over Spock’s body and, frowned for a third time.

     Noticing Bones’ actions, Kirk asked, “Something wrong?”

     “Nothing a decent medi-scanner wouldn’t sure. Can’t trust these blamed Federation-issued gadgets to last more than a few months without breaking down.”

     “What’s wrong?” Kirk repeated.

     McCoy waved a hand at the Vulcan. “Crazy thing says he’s Human. Not only that, it says he’s dead.”

     “That’s impossible.” Kirk turned toward the fountain. “Mudd!” But Fenton Harcourt Mudd had vanished. “Mudd. Mudd!” shouted the Captain, running a few steps in the direction of the ever-present blue forest.

     “Come on back, Jim. Won’t do any good. Better return to the ship and find a medi-scanner that works. No telling what that drug did to Spock.”

     Kirk came back and studied the Vulcan’s blank features. “Spock, can you hear me?”

     The other’s familiar deep voice didn’t reply.

    “He’s catatonic,” said McCoy. “Just happened. We’ve got to get back to the ship.”

    “Yes.” Kirk took out his communicator. “Kirk to _Enterprise_.” No response. He adjusted the dial and tried again. “Kirk to _Enterprise_. Please answer.” He added angrily, “This is an emergency. Enterprise!” Still there was no answer. Kirk flipped the lid closed in disgust, replacing the devise at the back of his waistband. “Nothing seems to be working.”

     “How far to the shuttlecraft?” asked McCoy, as his fingers pressed on the Vulcan’s carotid artery to gauge his pulse rate.

     “Uh…about fifty meters or so…over there.” Kirk pointed to the grove of trees across the fountain’s white stoned plaza.

     “We’d better carry help him to it, then. If we can get him to move.” But Spock’s body had become rigid, and they found it impossible, even both working together, as if he were cemented in place.

 

     Spock’s mind had returned to the violet pool. He ran through the blue trees after the boy, calling him by name. Finally, the child appeared before him, this time fully clothed.

     “You certainly don’t track well,” the boy declared as Spock neared him. “Besides, I’m tired of your chasing me.” He sighed. “You adults have no imagination.”

     “Selton,” Spock said, coming to stand in front of the boy who now sat cross-legged upon the ground. “Why did you run from me? I meant you no harm.”

     “You’re an adult, aren’t you? Adults don’t like children, especially ‘breeds.’”

     “But such children are even more disliked by other children.”

     “You should know.”

     Spock frowned. “You’re quite impertinent, for one of your age. How old are you?”

     “I have no age, for I am ageless.”

     “Indeed.” Spock contemplated the boy’s words for a moment. “Then who are your parents?”

     Selton smiled, impishly. “I have none.”

     “You are orphaned?”

     “No.”

     “Disowned?”

     “No,” the boy repeated, his grin growing broader.

    “Then…”

     “My parents have not yet been born.”

     “How can that be?”

     “You said yourself all in this Garden may exist in another place, another time, another dimension.”

     “So, your existence is elsewhere.”

     “Bingo!” the boy said, springing into the air and landing closer to Spock.

     “Are you Vulcan, as you appear to be?”

     “Partly—actually, I’m more human than anything, but I don’t have the same hang-ups you do.”

     Spock grimaced at the child’s use of a human colloquialism. “Why are you here? Harry Mudd says all here is for pleasure and the enjoyment of the senses.”

     “Haven’t you always wanted a son?”

     “Every man hopes to pass his name on to another, eventually, but my time has not yet come.”

     The boy leaned back, smiling slyly with half-closed eyes full of wisdom beyond his evident years. “It will.”

     “How can you be sure. How can you say such a thing?”

     “Because I’m your son.”

     “But you said your parents were not yet born.”

     “They’re not; you’re not. This place is from the far past, we are from its future, I farther than you. So, for me, you aren’t born yet, as long as I’m here.” He rose to his feet. “You’d better get back. Your friends are worried, and if you don’t get back to your ship, I won’t be born.”

    

     Life returned to Spock’s eyes and fluidity to his limbs.

     “He’s coming around,” came a distant voice.

     Kirk stopped in front of Spock’s still somewhat dazed face. “Can you make it to the shuttlecraft?”

     The Vulcan nodded weakly.

     Together, McCoy and Kirk helped Spock to his feet and down the sandy path toward the woods of blue and scarlet pines.

     Moments later, they reached the _Columbus_ and the other members of the landing party.

    “Our communicators wouldn’t work, and we thought it best to come here and wait,” remarked the Russian ensign.

     “You did right, Chekov. Help us get Spock into the shuttle.”      The Vulcan straightened at the inference he needed assistance. “I am quite capable of entering the craft on my own, Captain.” But, as soon as he made his way to the front, he sat down quickly, leaning his head forward to rest against the console for a few minutes.

     “Captain,” Chekov spoke again, “I could have sworn I saw Harry Mudd a while ago.”

     Kirk opened his mouth to speak, but it was Spock’s voice that answered, deeply low but audible. “It was an illusion. Everything here was an illusion, nothing but an illusion, existing nowhere but in our mind’s eye.”

     The Captain moved forward to operate the controls, setting the engines alive which would lift the shuttlecraft from the small clearing and return her to the cradle of the Enterprise. As they gained altitude, Chekov looked out the port window to the multi-colored planet below. The purple and blue swirling surface began to bleed as he watched, then faded, becoming barren gray.

     “It was an illusion,” he said in a whisper.

     McCoy turned to the ensign. “But for a while, it was paradise.”

     “Did you have some kind of experience down there, Doctor?” the young man asked.

     “I’ve never felt so full of love in my entire life.”

     “A woman?”

     “No, nothing like that. It was like…returning to the warmth and safety of the womb. I felt as though nothing could harm me and that… Well, I felt so low when we landed, but once alone that feeling vanished.” He smiled, his blue eyes twinkling. “I felt the whole universe loved me.”

     Chekov half-laughed. “That’s what everyone in our group said, too.”

 

     By the time the landing party arrived aboard the Enterprise, Spock had returned to normal…or almost normal…for he was unusually quiet. Without protest, he allowed McCoy’s examination, answering the doctor’s questions with the fewest words possible.

     Kirk came in during the examination. “Mudd’s in detention on Denebola Six, so you must be right about that being an illusion, Spock.”

     “Only logical,” replied the First Officer.

     Kirk scratched his head. “Hmm, guess so, considering Mudd’s personality. Do you suppose Cyrano Jones is really his cousin?”

     “Quite probably,” answered Spock.

     Kirk motioned McCoy aside. “When did this start?”

     “The verbal brevity? After he blacked out half-an-hour ago.”

     “You mean, he’s still…?”

     “Yeah. There’re some traces of that alien drug still in his system. We’ll simply have to wait for it to wear off. But the affect seems to be diminishing.”

 

     Spock was back on the planet below. Again, the indigo trees’ branches formed a ceiling high above his head, practically blocking out all light. His keen eyes searched the shadows.

     “Selton, where are you? Come to me.”

     A pale, elfin face peered out of the darkness then disappeared.

     Spock walked a few steps closer to the bank of trees. “Selton, come out. I order you…as…as your father.”

     The small boy emerged, skipping merrily toward the adult Vulcan. “You do believe me, don’t you?”

     “It is illogical to do so, and yet…”

     “And yet? Are you pleased with me?” he asked stopping before the adult.

     “Let me say, you are not exactly what I thought my son would be.”

     “You expected me to be ‘Vulcan,’” He cocked his head. “In behavior, as well as appearance?”

     “Yes, I suppose I did.”

     “But my mother wants a Human child. I can’t be both. You must accept me as I am…Father.”

     “You are correct. If what you are is truly what my son will be, I must accept him.”

     “Not him—me! I _am_ your son!”

     “I find your impudence quite irritating.”

     “Irritating? Ah-hah! You admit to emotion.” The boy pointed an accusing finger toward Spock as he spoke, and the adult seized it, as well as the attached arm.

     “Yes, I admit to that emotion, and if you are truly my son, then I have in my hands the power to discipline you, especially since it appears that duty has been neglected in your upbringing.” Spock jerked Selton toward him and swung him over his knees, landing several flat-handed blows to the boy’s rump.

     “You resort to violence, Father. That is unVulcan.”

      “But this place is the past, and in the past Vulcans did not shun violence. Perhaps this experience of the past will be remembered in your own time. Whether Vulcan or Human, a child must be taught respect…even if the lesson must be learned across his father’s knee.”

     He pulled the boy up to stand in front of him. A single tear followed by another rolled down Selton’s fragile cheek.

     “I have learned my lesson, Father. In the future, I shall hold my tongue.” 

     Spock knelt and held the boy’s arms in his hands. “You are a fine son, except for that tongue of yours. It pleases me to know I shall have a son like you, and because of you, I look forward to the future.”

     “Truly, Father?” the child said, wiping the tears from his face with a pale finger.

     Spock stroked the boy’s dark hair. “Truly.”

 

     “He’s coming to. Look, Jim, that bloody Vulcan is actually smiling.”

     Spock’s eyes opened. “You find that odd, Doctor? When one knows his future will be happy, would he not smile?” Quite casually, the Vulcan arose from the bed and left through the doors of Sick Bay, as if he’d never suffered a moment’s ill health.

     Kirk and McCoy exchanged a look of disbelief, then Kirk shrugged his shoulders and followed Spock through the doors.

 

The End

    

  


End file.
